The Worst Fourth Pirate in History
by LetTheLightShine
Summary: Teenaged Aaron Hotchner finds a safe haven from the pain of his home life: the theater, where a girl named Haley seems willing to overlook his secrets. A perspective on Hotch's childhood that is mostly consistent with the details on the show. Please R&R. Warning: Rated T for child abuse.
1. Prologue -- Safe

_[I decided to write this alternative Hotch backstory because I feel it is more accurate with the show. While I prefer the backstory shown in "What My Brother Taught Me about Love," this story aims to remain consistent with every detail given on the show and offer a possible explanation for perceived contradictions. Be warned that this story may be more violent than my first one. While Sean didn't always witness the violence, Aaron's perspective sees it more directly. The first chapter alone is especially harsh. As may be expected, I do not own _Criminal Minds _or any characters. Here's a lighthearted prologue to get started. Hope you enjoy! And, as always, comments are much appreciated.]_

The three-year-old gripped four crayons in each tiny fist. He got down on his haunches in front of a sheet of coloring paper: a picture of cowboys on horses. Now came the challenging part—which color to choose. Naturally, the first horse had to be yellow and blue. The little boy leaned closer and began coloring with all his might.

The front door banged open, and the boy looked up to see his father standing there in a suit and tie, dripping from the downpour outside.

"Daddy!" The crayons were forgotten. Many had rocketed into the air as the boy leapt up jubilantly.

"Aaron! How's my mini lawman?" His father pushed the door shut behind him before crouching to catch his son's embrace.

"I went to the park with Mommy," Aaron reported. "And I squashed a bug!"

"No way! I squashed a bug too." Daddy ruffled Aaron's thick, dark hair, and the boy giggled.

"What was the bug's name?" asked Aaron's mother, coming from the kitchen.

Daddy straightened, leaving Aaron to look up at the towering grown-ups. "Frank Perotta. The man is sick, unfit to be a father. And yet, the jury didn't see it that way. They believe there is no substantial evidence that the man is abusive, and they let him go, just like that, back to his family. How wrong is that?"

Mommy put her hands on her hips. "I thought you said you squashed a bug."

Daddy shrugged. "Mentally, I suppose. I did humiliate him in court."

"Alright. That's enough talking about work at home. Why don't you change into something dry, and then come in for dinner?"

Daddy hesitated. Aaron pulled on his pant leg and reached up. Lucky for him, Daddy reached down and scooped him up with a sweeping motion that made Aaron laugh.

"Sweetheart," said Daddy, too serious.

"Yes?" said Mommy.

"I want to lock every door and window and close all the shades. Let's get started."

"Whatever for?"

Daddy covered Aaron's ear that was closest to his face and whispered, "With all the bad guys I put away and those I almost put away, I don't want any of them coming after my family. I'm a little terrified, to be honest."

Aaron squeezed the hand that covered his ear. "Why are you whispering, Daddy?"

"We're just going to make this house extra safe, alright, buddy?"

"Yeah!" Of course, Daddy could have suggested they all go for a swim on this rainy night, and Aaron would have jumped on the opportunity. He loved doing anything and everything with his dad.

Aaron and his dad "made the house safe" and turned off all the extra lights. After dinner, Aaron sat on his parents' bed in his striped PJ's. His mom and dad sat against a mound of pillows as they looked over paper after paper together. Aaron listened to the rain strike the window across the room. Suddenly, a clap of thunder exploded through the roof, rattling the window. Aaron gasped and crawled between Mommy and Daddy.

"I thought you were going to read me a story?"

Daddy nodded. "How about... the writ of habeas corpus?"

Aaron giggled. "No, something in people-language. Not Martian."

"Aaron, please stop squirming," his mother said as she turned another page of the picture-less document.

Daddy sighed. "Alright. One more chapter of _Treasure Island_, then you'd better sail off to your own bed."

More thunder crackled through the sky. Aaron looked up at Daddy with big eyes.

"I'm safer here. Safe with both of you."

Mommy put an arm around him. Daddy smiled. "I will always keep you safe. You're my favorite little pirate."

"And you're the pirate captain!" Aaron was bouncing again. His mother held him still with a firm hug.

As the three of them snuggled up to read the story together, Aaron practically glowed with contentment. It didn't matter what bad guys lurked outside, or what thunder came knocking. He knew he was safe with Daddy. What could possibly change that?


	2. Chapter 1 -- Take Me With You

_[Violence alert]_

Aaron Hotchner steadied himself against the hood of the station wagon, refusing to fall over. It wasn't easy. Each blow from his mother's palm felt harder than the last. She wound back like a ballplayer making a pitch and unleashed the blow with all her strength. If not for the car Aaron braced himself against, he would already be on the garage floor.

"So ungrateful! Don't know why... I even bother!" his mother hollered, slapping his face between nearly every word.

Aaron knew there was no point in pleading. He was close to giving up ever winning his case. Memories, emotions, and sensations all ran in conflict. He almost felt numb, overtaken by disbelief that his life could have turned into this battle. He hadn't been in high school for long, but more than anything, he longed for his preschool days.

At last she showed signs of relenting. The exertion combined with shouting reprimands exhausted her, and each strike came at a longer interval. He should have felt relieved, but Aaron's stomach dropped when he heard the door between the garage and the kitchen open.

"At it again?" said the man in the doorway.

Mother grabbed Aaron's arm and spun him to face her husband. "He's impossible, Charles. Would you believe he wants _you_ to leave?"

Charles shook his shaggy head and _tsk_-ed as he approached the boy. Aaron struggled to maintain a mask of indifference to hide the mixed pain and terror he felt. Everything was wrong.

"After all your mama's been through," lectured the man, "you want to tear down the happiness in her life? Unheard of."

Aaron decided against making his own case. His stomach felt ice cold with dread as he stared up at the man who smirked at him from behind slovenly whiskers. Then the man turned his head and spat a yellowish wad of liquid onto the concrete. "You're sick, kid," he snickered. "Give your mom a break. I'm not leaving, and you can't make me."

Aaron knew of only one way to avoid more pain: admit defeat. Quickly concealing his anger, he whispered, "I understand. I... I'm sorry."

"Liar," said his mother in a low tone. "Charles, help me out."

The man walked away and started looking through the bins of car parts that sat unsorted against the wood-panelled wall. He silently untangled a thick fan belt, then turned back to Aaron and his mother.

Mother had her arms crossed, but she was starting to look unsteady from all the bourbon she'd consumed for supper. Regardless, she straightened herself and raised her chin triumphantly as Charles returned with the length of ragged, thick serpentine belt.

"Well, Charles?"

"It's time you started respecting your parents, brat," the man said to Aaron. "Get down on your knees. Show some respect."

When Aaron hesitated, his mother brought down an empty beer bottle on his shoulder, harder than anything, causing it to shatter against his thin frame. Aaron gasped in pain. Heart drumming, breath hitching, he reluctantly knelt.

"You owe your worthless existence to us," Charles went on. "What do you say about that?"

Aaron could find no words. He could hardly find his breath. He knew the taunts were lies, but he could not fight them.

The first blow sent a shockwave across his shoulders. Aaron shivered and tightened his muscles.

"You should be worshiping us!" Charles sounded crazed. He swung back the fan belt and lashed it across Aaron's back with such force the boy nearly toppled. He couldn't see the justice in this. It didn't compute with everything he'd been taught as a child. What had he done to deserve this?

"Listen to your father!" said his mother.

All Aaron could listen to was the repetitive _whack! whack!_ that sent shocks of pain into every corner of his back. He wanted to cry out but only clenched his teeth, scrunched up his eyes, and hunched his shoulders.

"He's not... my father!" Aaron gasped through chattering teeth.

Charles gave the car an enraged kick and went on beating Aaron in a furious spasm that lasted some twenty minutes. When the couple finally left Aaron lying on his face on the cold garage floor, he took a deep breath and allowed himself a few short sobs. His entire back blazed with sharp slices of agony, and his gray T-shirt hung loosely from where it had been shredded. He knew his mother and Charles had locked him in the garage, so he curled up under the car in hopes of guarding against another frosty night alone. Perhaps this was the new normal.

The truth was, Aaron believed he had the best dad in the world—a caring companion, upstanding prosecutor, and thoughtful mentor all rolled into one. Hotchner Sr. spent all of his spare time at home with his wife and young boy, being a great friend and role model. Aaron loved everything about his dad, and he always looked forward to hearing about his job with the law firm. In Aaron's eyes, his dad was a superhero.

Just over a year ago, the impossible happened. Aaron's dad suffered a heart attack. He died at work over piles of case files and a set of photographs featuring his close-knit family. Mrs. Hotchner didn't take his death well and nearly shut herself out of her son's life. For a long time, she lived off of bourbon and the decent savings her husband had made through his distinguished career. Her prestigious education from Mary Baldwin College vanished down the drain of depression. Aaron was left to mourn alone.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Hotchner brought home a smiling, glaze-eyed computer programmer whom she met at a bar. Aaron disliked Charles from the start, but the man never left. Often Aaron would spot Charles and his mother sitting together on the sofa, snickering deliriously, a cigarette in his hand, a glass in hers. When he later asked his mother to make the man leave, she slapped him so hard he couldn't see straight for hours, something she had never done before. It seemed Charles was there to stay.

Charles hardly ever went to work. He slouched around the house, eating their food, sometimes fiddling on a computer. Often he would sprawl on the couch and flip aimlessly through TV channels while Aaron tried to concentrate on homework. A cigarette always dangled between the man's lips.

He had a bad habit of ordering Aaron around, making him come and go and do things on a whim. "Hey, skinny kid!" he liked to snap. "Get over here." When Aaron did, Charles made a grand game of slapping him around and mocking him. Aaron threatened to tell his mother, but when he did, she hit him too. The couple that had replaced his parents had built an impenetrable wall of delusion around themselves.

All the while, Aaron held on tight to the memory of his real dad. Now he had a baby half-brother, a tiny, fussy squirt named Sean, and he couldn't help pitying the helpless child for having Charles as a father. Whenever he was left to look after the baby, Aaron would stare down into the portable crib, try to imagine away the life he was trapped in, and then tell Sean all about Mr. Hotchner. The poor kid would never know the most important man in Aaron's life, so Aaron introduced him through loving stories. He showed Sean the faded photograph he kept in his pocket, and he started to wonder if Sean saw the picture of Mr. Hotchner more often than he saw his own father.

Now Aaron lay curled up, bleeding and shivering, underneath a car that leaked a couple drops of oil onto his bare feet every few seconds. He tried not to think about the pain, or the cold, or the terrible task of finding a clean shirt in the morning and getting past his mother so he wouldn't be late for school. He fought hard to imagine that he lay in his father's arms rather than the concrete's.

He could remember his father singing a baritone melody when Aaron was much younger—_I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray! In Dixieland_. He never understood the song, but he relished the joy and passion that emanated from his father's strong voice as he bounced Aaron on his knee. Though Aaron was much too old for lullabies now, he wished his father would hold him and sing to him, just once more.

Despite the cold and the pain, his mind drifted away to the familiar tune. He thought he could see his father saying hello from Heaven, looking brilliantly happy and still wearing a tie. _Take me with you_, Aaron wanted to shout. Though somewhat delirious, his dreams brought him momentary peace.


	3. Chapter 2 -- Stolen Glance

_[Please let me know what you think of this take on the story. Do the details match up well? Also, I've decided to develop a unique subplot that will either work or risk messing up accuracy. I think it might turn out well, but I'd like to see your thoughts.]_

Little relief came when he escaped to school. Aaron relaxed and tried to be a kid at school, though he came across as quite the nerd and struggled to cover up signs of the increasingly frequent beatings at home. He got along well with his teachers, but very few classmates were willing to give him a break.

"Hey, Hotchner! How's your new dad? Showed up pretty quick, huh? I'll bet it didn't take much for your ma to forget your old man."

Aaron ignored the taunts. He didn't mind being called by his father's name, but he didn't want anybody belittling the man. Too much of his home life was public among a small group of peers, but no one bothered to report anything. These boys jeered at Aaron's long sleeves and constantly tried to guess what he'd done to incur his stepfather's wrath. Aaron never mentioned that his mother caused just as much, if not more, of his injuries.

In the hall between classes one day, a sour-faced older boy Aaron had never seen before caught him by the collar and slammed him against a locker. Aaron cringed, his shoulder already in pain from where his mother hit him with a bottle the night before. He couldn't hold back the tears that rushed to his eyes.

The boy laughed at him for "being a baby." He jeered, "What's the matter? Didn't your father ever throw you around? I hear lawyers are quite evil. Everybody knows it. You must be glad to be long rid of the man—"

Aaron shoved back hard against the boy, and they both toppled onto the tile floor. Notebook paper exploded in all directions. The bystanding youth stopped to watch as Aaron and his tormentor pushed hard against each other's arms and faces.

Aaron had a hand planted on the boy's chest, while the boy pressed his palm into Aaron's eye. Aaron's hand slipped, and he quickly punched the boy in the nose. The boy hollered and took Aaron's collar in both fists. With a mighty heave, he rolled Aaron onto his back and buried a knee in his stomach.

Aaron cried out, not from the knee, but from the pressure on his wounded back. His brief lack of focus gave the boy all the time he needed. He delivered a series of swift blows, but then Aaron caught his arm and shoved him forcefully aside. Aaron then took the advantage by diving into the boy's middle, pinning him against the lockers, and landing a powerful fist into the already bloody nose. Unless he was mistaken, Aaron thought he caught a whiff of alcohol coming from the boy.

Kids were chanting and hollering from every side. Aaron didn't care who they were rooting for. He could feel his face reddening with anger as he seized the boy's collar in one fist and sent the other into his jaw.

The boy screamed just in time for a teacher's assistant to come to his aid. The TA seized Aaron's arm and threw him into the opposite wall. Cringing against the bricks, Aaron felt vivid reminders that he'd been thoroughly whipped with a fan belt the night before. Across from him, the bully held his nose and gave huge, fake moans. Murmurs and snickers trickled through the crowd.

"It was Hotchner's fault. Hotchner started it."

And the pitiful voice of the boy: "He tried to kill me!"

Aaron lay in a heap on the floor, his body throbbing. The only thing he could think about now was what his mother and stepfather would do when they found out about the fight. Whatever happiness he thought existed somewhere in his life quickly died away.

"Get up, Hotchner." The TA gripped his bruised shoulder again. Aaron winced as he stood.

The TA scribbled up a note that he folded and shoved into Aaron's shirt pocket. He then ordered Aaron to visit the principal's office while the other boy, Vinny, saw the school nurse. For that, Aaron could be mildly grateful. He knew a school nurse would discover the marks that patterned his body, and she would call his mother, and the police would come, and that would make his mother mad, and she may never stop hitting him again. No school nurse, no policemen, was his mother's rule.

Aaron had never been to the office before, but he knew the general direction. He started slowly down the hall, trying desperately not to cry from renewed pain in his back and face. Maybe he could smooth things out with the principal and keep anybody from calling his home.

The bell rang, and students began disappearing from the halls. Aaron walked alone down a long stretch of corridor, running over and over in his head what he would say to gain the principal's favor. The bruises he knew the boy had given him hadn't darkened on his skin yet. How could he claim self defense?

After the fourth corner, Aaron realized he was lost. He looked up at a row of plaques on one brick wall, but saw no sign for directions. He passed a pair of restroom doors and turned down another hallway. Perhaps if he wandered for a few hours, everybody would just forget the whole incident.

Aaron stopped in front of a large double door. The official appearance of the doors drew him, and he feared he had reached his destination. Cautiously, he pushed open the door on the right and stepped inside.

This certainly was not the principal's office, unless the principal conducted his business in a nearly empty auditorium. Aaron stood for a moment behind the countless rows of red folding chairs. The stage at the far end of the room glowed under a single spotlight. Five or six teenagers stood at various locations onstage, and one adult looked up from ground level. He was waving a sheet of papers and giving directions.

Aaron knew he should turn around and continue his search in the hallways, but he lingered a minute. He wanted to watch the pretty girl with straight, dirty blond hair climb behind a cardboard boat.

Suddenly she looked up at the half-open door across the room. Her eyes met Aaron's. He felt his jaw hanging a little loosely. The trace of a silly "what do you want?" smile bounced from her eyes.

"Can I help you?" asked the adult, turning to see the intruder. Aaron saw that he held a skull-and-crossbones flag.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Aaron slowly backed out. He looked one last time at the girl, but she was already absorbed in her rehearsal. She was easily the first student at this school who hadn't looked at him with utter disdain. _I should have asked her name._

Aaron found the principal's office in another ten minutes. The girl had not left his mind. He thought of her when the principal grilled him, and he was even completely distracted while the principal took up the phone to call his mom.

And even while his mother and stepfather spent the evening beating him with whatever they could lay their hands on, Aaron maintained a clear remembrance of the girl who met his eye. He needed a plan. Unlike most of the school, she knew nothing about him. Perhaps she would give him a chance. Yes, thought Aaron, as he lay bleeding and aching on the ratty squares of carpet in the dark basement. He needed a plan. Something positive to focus on.


	4. Chapter 3 -- Just One Line

Aaron was all nerves when he signed up for drama club. He stumbled through a brief audition for an extra in "The Pirates of Penzance," and was somewhat amazed to land the part of Pirate #4. The casting director diminished his achievement by glumly saying he only got the part because nobody else auditioned. In fact, there would be no Pirate #4 if not for Aaron's last-minute try-out.

Aaron's hands shook as he held his copy of the script. He scanned the cast list but wasn't familiar with most of the names. He noticed that Vinny, the boy he fought yesterday, would play Frederic. There were five girls in the cast, most of them playing male roles for lack of boy actors. Aaron pictured the girl in the auditorium's face as he read each name, but he couldn't decide which fitted her best. Sarah Oaken in the role of Ruth might be the one. Then again, she might not be. Aaron wasn't very familiar with the story.

He met the director that afternoon. The tall blond man with a mustache shook Aaron's hand and gave him a skeptical look. "Aren't you the boy who got into a fight with our lead?"

Aaron nodded. He knew that the bruises on his face would be attributed to Vinny, though he was only one-third of the cause.

"There had better not be any conflicts between you two," warned the director. "I'm giving you this chance. Don't blow it. I need you both to heal up so we don't have any shiners onstage."

"Yes sir."

Aaron followed the director into the big, mostly empty auditorium. He saw the cast dispersed amongst various props. Quick scan for the girl who met his eye earlier. Nowhere in sight.

Vinny, however, was easy to spot. He too sported some bruises, and his scowl could be felt across the room.

"Stand over there, Hotchner," ordered Vinny, pointing to the far corner of the stage. Aaron wasn't sure why he was giving orders, but the director nodded for him to comply.

"We'll go over the opening scene again," said the director. "Everybody, introduce yourselves to Aaron. He will be playing Pirate #4."

A few snickers skittered through the group.

"I'm going to pick up some cardboard swords from my office," the director went on. "I expect you to have gone over the scene once before I return."

As soon as he left the room, the kids started murmuring amongst themselves and resuming their preparations. Two girls who were seated on a big trunk stared impolitely at Aaron and started whispering behind their hands.

Aaron stood awkwardly flipping through his script. Handwritten notes told him to sing along with the songs, but apart from that, he couldn't find any lines for his character. Of course, he only got into the play in hopes of meeting a girl who smiled at him, but still, didn't he get one single line?

Vinny leaned back against a stack of boxes and took a small bottle from his jacket pocket. From the corner of his eye, Aaron saw the bottle touch his co-star's lips.

"Vinny, what's that?"

"More strength in a bottle than you'll ever have in your finger. Bug off."

Aaron didn't need to point out that drinking in high school was against the law. Vinny carried a superior air about him that conveyed not only a knowledge of the law, but a self-entitled disregard for it. Nobody else seemed bothered.

In the few seconds Aaron spent staring at the older boy, trying to decide if he should say anything else, he noticed something of greater significance. While Vinny sported light bruising on the bridge of his nose and his jawline, both gifted by Aaron, he also wore a faint black eye and other mottled yellow to gray marks that Aaron knew he wasn't responsible for. Gazing at the past injuries, then at the boy's long-sleeved sweatshirt, a realization dawned on Aaron. He wasn't the only abused kid in town.

Vinny glared. "What are you looking at?"

Aaron felt his mouth go dry. He was saved from answering by the sound of the double doors across the room swinging open. He looked up to see the pretty blond junior, weighed down with books, a bag, and costumes, rush down the aisle, all a-frenzy. The sight of her soft features and hair tied in a ponytail made Aaron inhale in awe. What a sweet face she had.

"Sorry I'm late, guys," the girl said as she deposited her load on the edge of the stage. "I hope you've gotten started."

"Actually, we were waiting for you, the star," said Vinny with faux adoration. He had returned his bottle to his jacket pocket when the girl entered.

"Alright, then." The girl tossed her ponytail and looked over the cast. Spotting a new face, she smiled and approached Aaron, hand extended.

"Haley Brooks. I'm playing Mabell."

The lump in Aaron's throat threatened to block his airway. "Aaron, um, Hotchner. I'm Pirate Number... Four." He was surprised to find her hand slightly calloused despite obvious over-lotioning. Her nails were painted a quiet lavender. The scent of honeysuckle hung around her, just enough to notice.

"Nice to meet you." She broke away from his awkward handshake, too soon for Aaron. "Now why don't we get into our places and run through the first scene?"

Aaron fumbled through the rehearsal. He tripped twice and once ran into Pirate #2 while stealing glances at the leading lady. He wanted to understand her better. Why was she so gentle? Most girls her age used secrets and intimidation to make him feel unwanted. Haley not only welcomed him; she did not seem annoyed to death by his presence. Even when he repeatedly followed the wrong stage cue and ended up everywhere but his assigned place.

When the pirates finally got into their proper places, Vinny and the boy who played the pirate captain practiced several lines of dialogue. Aaron was getting antsy. Haley wasn't in most of these scenes, so she stood below the stage and offered advice to the struggling thespians. He wanted very much to talk to her, but he had no idea what about.

A lull in the dialogue snapped Aaron out of his thoughts. He then realized everyone was staring at him.

"Uh, Aaron," Haley said.

She said his name! "Yes?"

"Your line..."

He blinked. What did he miss? He looked at the wrinkled script in his hands, and sure enough, there was his line scribbled in the margin: "Aye, cap'n." His very own line, all two words of it.

As the day went on, Aaron's performance skills did not improve much, but he did gather enough nerve to approach Haley after the rehearsal.

"Hi, Haley." There! Got that part out of the way.

"Hi, Aaron." She was again holding an armful of books, and she looked at him expectantly. The spotlight was back on him; she awaited the next line.

Only the next line hadn't been written. Aaron found himself tripping over his tongue worse than any clumsy tumble he'd taken onstage. He broke into a nervous smile to dissipate the tension.

Haley smiled too, but with a touch of impatience.

"I just wanted to say, thank you for all your help," Aaron blurted.

"Sure. You're welcome."

"Well, see you tomorrow."

"Yep. Bye, Aaron."

Then she was gone through the double doors, and Aaron was left alone to bang his head on the wall in frustration. Nice line.

Despite his painful awkwardness, Aaron looked back on the day as much happier than most. He wondered if he dare feel happy about something, for fear it might be snatched away. But today gave him hope, hope that he could find something worthwhile to do with himself. Hope that there were still good people out there.

On the way home, Aaron debated whether or not to tell his mother about his theatrical pursuit. In the off-chance that she actually cared, he wouldn't want her to miss what could be the most interesting event in his life. But more likely than not, she wouldn't give a rip, and he would wish he had kept it to himself. He decided to gauge her mood of the evening.

One step inside his home and Aaron came down from the carefree delight he had allowed himself to experience. Sean's wails filled the house, and the voices of Mother and Charles could be heard arguing at top volume. Aaron smelled smoke from his stepfather's heavy nicotine addiction, and he saw more than half a dozen beer bottles, mostly empty, lying on the floor. Real life had returned.

He leaned against the front door and sighed. His latest injuries were too fresh, too sore for him to risk running into either adult today. May as well head straight for the basement.

The sound of something breaking caught Aaron's attention. The next thing he heard was Charles' raspy yell that barely topped the sound of Sean's cries: "First thing to do is get rid of that baby! If it can't stop crying, I'll make it stop!"

Mother gave a shout of protest, and Aaron heard a thumping sound. Serious trouble was brewing. Though he wanted no part, he did feel concerned for a helpless baby caught in the middle of this screamfest. So he turned and walked deliberately up the stairs and into the melee.

He would both regret and be grateful for that choice over the days to come.


	5. Chapter 4 -- Pegleg

Aaron had to learn to be versatile, especially when it came to wound care. The dim lighting from the basement's one lightbulb did not help his case, and he was having trouble making his father's work ties fulfill his needs. But he had to work with what he had. Gritting his teeth, he continued wrapping a long, blue-and-white striped tie around his foot and ankle. Another tie, this one with red diamonds, completed the wrapping. In the end, he could still do nothing about the pain.

For several months now, Aaron had been sleeping on a mound of rags in the cold, unfinished basement. For the first time, though, he was not alone at night. Coos and whimpers emanated from the plastic rag bin where baby Sean lay on a foot of torn, dirty cloths for a mattress. Charles had officially had his fill of baby cries day and night, so Sean shared Aaron's "bedroom" now. For awhile, Sean cried because of the cold, so Aaron piled overused cloths on top of his melon-sized body. Baby care was the last thing Aaron wanted to be responsible for, but if nobody else would do it, he would silently take on the task.

It started when Aaron ran upstairs at the sound of his stepfather threatening to get rid of the baby. Aaron had no idea what was happening, and when he appeared in his parents' doorway, the chaos was nearly incomprehensible. Charles paced in front of the bed, alternately coughing and yelling hoarsely. A cigarette smoldered between his fingertips. Sean's portable crib contained one very upset baby. And Mother clutched a wrinkled letter that she waved angrily at Charles.

"How could you do this to me? Do you think I deserve this?"

"I can't talk to you over the squirt's siren! Shut him up!"

"I thought you loved me!" Mother slapped the letter on her dressing bureau. "Well, I hate you! Why don't you just take your baby and leave?"

"I don't want him!" Charles spat and kicked an overturned sewing kit. "If you won't keep him quiet, I'll just throw him out." And he approached the crib menacingly.

"You're a monster," said Mother. "First you hurt me by cheating, now you want to hurt your child?"

"I never wanted him!" Charles jammed his cigarette between his teeth and picked up Sean under the arms. Sean continued to wail with tears and phlegm dripping onto his onesie.

At that moment, Aaron made his presence known. "Wait, Charles." He rushed forward. "Let me look after him until he calms down. Please, you're not thinking straight."

Charles turned to him with an absolutely furious glare in his eyes. He shifted Sean to one arm and brought his free hand down across Aaron's face with a sharp smack. Unprepared, Aaron fell to one side, and his right ankle twisted from the sudden opposing force. Aaron cried out and immediately clutched his ankle.

"Stay out of this!" screamed Charles, and, seeing Aaron's pain, kicked the boy in the ankle. Aaron recoiled as a couple tears sprang down his cheeks.

He knew he stood a good chance of getting hurt again, but he had to complete his objective. "I just came for the baby. I'll take him off your hands and you won't have to worry about..."

Charles kicked him again, so hard Aaron curled up on his side and moaned.

Mother, who had been watching the whole time, rushed forward and scooped Sean from the man's arm. "Leave my son alone!" she demanded, then she knelt and placed the baby in Aaron's trembling arms. "Both of you, get out of here. The adults need to talk."

With Mother shielding him, Aaron struggled to his feet with the tearful infant in his arms. He could hardly put an ounce of weight on his right foot without feeling streaks of pain shoot up his leg.

"You can just keep him," snarled Charles. "I never want to see either of you again."

Without a word, Aaron turned and limped—unbalanced, trembling, burdened—out of the room and all the way down the stairs. He paused to rest at the bottom step, then trekked on down the basement steps. Sean's cries had receded with the change in scene, but tears still flowed down his round cheeks.

Both boys recuperated in the semi-darkness of the cement tomb, but neither could get to sleep. The shouts two floors above gradually died away. Aaron crouched against the water heater for warmth and pulled his rumpled script from his bag.

"Hey, Sean. Why don't I practice my line for you?"

Baby gurgle.

Aaron cleared his throat and summoned up his most regal-sounding voice: "Aye, Cap'n!

"Well, that's no good. Let's try again.

"Arrg! Aye, Cap'n!" A Scottish-inflected pirate growl.

"Cap'n! Aye-aye!

"Aye! _Cap_tain."

Why couldn't he get it right? Aaron got up and gazed at the confused-looking infant in the rag bin. "I'm going to get this," he said. "It will be the best line in the whole play once I finish practicing."

He noticed that Sean had completely stopped crying. Now the baby stared up at him with something like wonderment. Suddenly he reached up a tiny hand and made a sound like he wanted something.

"What?" asked Aaron.

Sean flexed his fingers. "Uhh!"

"Teether? You want something to chew?" Aaron found a peeling dress shoe on the floor and handed it to the baby.

Sean tossed it aside and reached again. "Uhhh!"

"Hungry?"

"Uhh!"

Then Aaron remembered what he always did when he looked after Sean. He reached into his jeans pocket and found the folded Polaroid. "You want to see Daddy?"

When he held out the photo, Sean's face lit up. He reached until his fingers brushed the image of the lawyer hugging his wife and son. Sean cooed.

Aaron sighed. "I wish you had known my dad. He would have loved you. I remember when I was just a little older than you, he would let me in his bed and read stories every night. My favorite was _Treasure Island_, with the amazing adventure and hidden treasure and lots of pirates—"

Aaron stared. "Sean, that's it! Daddy did the best pirate voice I ever heard."

He thought back to those nights under the heavy covers, curled up beside his favorite person, imagining swashbuckling adventures. Daddy did all the voices with accents and emphasis and such passion.

Aaron looked at his script. He turned back a few pages and began reading the dialogue before his line, trying to capture the voice he remembered. By the time he reached his line, he hit the perfect deep pitch and salty sailor tone: "Aye, cap'n!"

Sean shrieked with delight. Aaron smiled at him. _Dear Daddy, I wish you could see me now._

At the next day's rehearsal, Aaron struggled to stay balanced and steady while limping through his part. He felt a touch of pride as he said his line, and hoped Haley noticed how good it sounded. She noticed him alright, but not in the way he hoped.

As the modern major general graced the stage with his difficult song, Aaron sat casually holding his ankle on his lap in the front row. Haley, with a clipboard, came and sat beside him.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"Sorry?"

"I notice you're limping pretty bad. Do you need to get your leg checked out?"

Aaron looked at her, speechless at her concern. He swallowed and shook his head. "It's, um, my pirate limp. I thought Pirate #4 could use a pegleg, just like Long John Silver."

She didn't look totally convinced. "Does it hurt?"

"Hurt? Why... why would it hurt?"

She looked at him with such a piercing gaze that demanded honesty. He knew she knew he was hiding something, but he lost his voice again.

"Well, we're in the next scene. Let's go." Haley touched his hand lightly. "Break a leg, if you haven't already."

Aaron nodded, amazed. That girl was special, no doubt, he thought as he limped after her. Anyone else would have knocked his feet from under him.


	6. Chapter 5 -- Swords Drawn

About half a dozen boys filled the narrow dressing room, talking loudly and trying on costumes. With a dress rehearsal only ten minutes away, the mood was jovial but slightly rushed. Aaron sat hunched on the bench gazing at the blue lockers, hugging an off-white pirate shirt, black embroidered vest, and baggy trousers in a bundle over his chest. He wanted to wait until all the other boys finished and left the room before he changed. He couldn't bear the thought of removing his shirt now and having everybody stare and jeer at the still-sore welts crisscrossing his back.

The pirate king and the police sergeant began bantering on either side of the bench so they had to talk over Aaron. They tossed garments to one another and made tasteless jokes. The one standing behind Aaron gave him a jab in the shoulder. "Looks like he's chickening out. What will we do without our fourth pirate?"

"Hurry up, Hotchner," said the half-costumed boy in front of him. "We're not waiting on you."

"Be ready in a minute," Aaron mumbled.

"Yeah. Why don't we help you?" The boy behind the bench seized his arm.

Aaron pulled away angrily. The boy in front of him laughed. Grabbing both of his shoulders, he shoved Aaron back onto the tile floor. Aaron cringed as he landed with a thud. He had missed hitting his head on a locker by inches.

Several shouts of interest went up as boys from every side pointed and teased. The two who started the confrontation knelt on either side of Aaron and scuffled with him in an attempt to reach his shirt buttons. Aaron did everything in his power to swat their hands away, but he knew it was a losing fight. In only seconds, his secret would be out, and the mockery would surely hurt more than all the blazing wounds.

"Eric! Chris! Get off the floor before I bring in the director," an older boy hollered in a firm voice, causing the bullies to withdraw. "We've got to be onstage in five minutes, and I'm not going to let this loser blow it. He's not worth it."

Aaron looked up to see Vinny. The scowling boy wore his pirate pants but hadn't yet changed shirts. He turned away from where Aaron lay and began working a belt through his pant loops.

Aaron got up, feeling a little dizzy, and gathered his costume. Actors began trickling out until only he and Vinny remained. Interestingly, Vinny pulled his costume shirt on over his longsleeves instead of exchanging one for the other. Aaron decided to do the same.

"Thanks for stopping them," he said quietly.

Vinny pointed an angry finger. "Don't you dare even _think_ about thanking me. I couldn't care less if they tore you to pieces and threw your body to the dogs. You're nothing to me."

Unable to reply, Aaron began buttoning up his pirate shirt. His shabby red henley could just barely be seen under the costume. While Vinny took a swig from his secret bottle, Aaron glanced again at his co-star's fading bruises. He noticed a newer one darkening Vinny's temple.

Vinny shot him a glance. "Stop looking at me, unless you want to die."

"Was it your father?" Aaron immediately felt out of bounds. He didn't know where his boldness came from.

Vinny stopped what he was doing and faced Aaron with an incredulous glare. "What? You got something to say?"

"No. Sorry."

"Don't say a word about my father. You have no idea what he's like. You haven't a clue what it's like to live the way I do."

But Aaron did understand. Apparently, Vinny wasn't as aware of Aaron's homelife as Aaron first thought. Never mind bonding over what they had in common.

"And one more thing." Vinny wasn't through. "That girl playing Mabel; she's _mine_. I don't want to see you going near her, or even talking to her without my permission."

Now Aaron felt incredulously mad. "As if she's your's to control! You can't tell me—"

Vinny held up his fist to Aaron's face and shook it threateningly. "Don't test me."

All Aaron could do was nod. Vinny took one last swallow from his bottle and then headed out. Aaron finally had the room to himself, but it was now time to be onstage. He quickly finished up and limped backstage with the rest.

The final rehearsal went smoothly, except for when Pirate #2 bent a cardboard sword and Aaron crossed the stage at the wrong time. He didn't get a chance to speak to Haley, but he felt Vinny staring at him the whole time. He couldn't risk it now.

Aaron felt spent when he got home. He closed the door behind him and prayed that Mother and Charles were in good moods.

He knew right away that something was not right. The lights were off, except for a flickering lamp in the living room. He heard the sound of someone's breath coming in heaves and hitches from the couch. Cautiously, he entered the living room.

First he noticed the portable crib in the middle of the room. Sean lay inside, fast asleep, dreamily sucking on a pacifier. Aaron moved past the crib towards the couch.

He saw his mother sitting on the sofa and sobbing like her life was ended. She held one hand to her eyes and cried so hard Aaron felt sorrowful at the sight. He didn't know what had happened, but he set down his bag and approached the couch. Coming up beside her, he gingerly put his arms around his mother's shaking frame. She raised her head at his touch but did not acknowledge his presence. While she continued to sob, she did hold onto his wrists and pulled his embrace close. Aaron waited at least five minutes for her sobs to die down.

She ran a hand across her eyes and sniffed. She sat there for another minute, breathing in quivers and holding Aaron's wrists in place. Finally, she spoke in an utterly defeated tone. "I miss your father. He was a good man."

Aaron nodded, but he held back his own tears. Right now, his mother needed his comfort. Though his soul ached to let loose with torrents of weeping, he could not put that burden on his mother. Not while she needed him to be strong. And in that moment, he actually pitied her. She never knew how to handle her grief, and the anger she took out on him was likely a release of frustration and sorrow.

"I miss his gentle hands," Mother went on, voice breaking. "I miss his smile and his honesty, and... and his loyalty. I loved him; you must believe that."

A single tear escaped Aaron's eye. "Yes, I know. I love him too."

"I don't know... what I've done. I wish none of this ever happened. I wish..." Dry sobs took over.

"I know. Believe me, I know."

Finally, Mother relaxed and leaned into Aaron's embrace. Her body continued to shake and her deep breaths came in quaking waves. Aaron held her tight, knowing moments like this were so rare.

Mother must have exhausted herself crying. In only a few minutes, her body went completely limp and her head relaxed against Aaron's shoulder. Her steady breathing signaled her sleep.

Aaron gently laid her down on the couch. He then pulled a quilt up to her shoulders and kissed her softly on the cheek. "I miss Dad _and_ you," he whispered.

Once he was sure she was comfortably resting, Aaron got up and limped to the stairs. Relying heavily on the railing, he made his way up to his parents' bedroom. The door was ajar, so he went ahead and pushed it open.

Charles sat on the bed clutching his chest. He had a pile of papers beside him. The cigarette in his lips was almost gone. He looked up at the intruder and quickly dropped his arms to his sides.

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you." Aaron felt a flood of anger welling up inside and battled to keep it at bay.

Charles coughed and leaned forward. He looked thinner than usual.

Time to cut to the chase. "How many affairs have you had?" Aaron demanded.

Charles looked up furiously. "Why you... I ought to belt you to the next century. Get out of my room."

Aaron wasn't about to back down. "It's not your room; it's Mom and Dad's room. I didn't want you here, but now that you are, and now that you've pledged yourself to my mom, she deserves your loyalty. That's one thing I learned from my dad. Husbands love their wives, and that means all the time, no matter how much you lose interest, no matter what distractions come up. If you're going to play the part, I won't let you get away with cheating on my mom."

Charles reached for a bottle at the bedside and flung it at Aaron's head. Aaron ducked, and the bottle shattered on the doorframe.

"I'm warning you, kid..."

"No, I've had enough of that. You listen to me. If you don't love my mom and you intend to hurt us all, you can just hit the road right now. This isn't your house. You're not my father."

"I'll kill you!"

"I'll call the police, and a lawyer too. If they have to remove you, they will."

"You won't get the chance. You'll be dead, you and your lousy mama and that stinking baby too."

"I'll drive you out of town before that happens."

Charles stood, unsteady but menacing. "Big talk won't save you."

"We don't have to just talk."

"You're done talking. Get on your knees. I want you to respect me."

"No. I won't play your game."

Charles strode closer. "You _will_ respect me."

"I won't grovel at your feet."

"You will."

Charles got close enough to clamp a hand around Aaron's arm. Aaron twisted away, causing them both to careen into the wall.

Charles dove with both hands at Aaron's chest. Aaron grabbed his wrists and pushed back with all his might. Charles propelled a knee up into Aaron's stomach, and the boy winced but did not let go of his stepfather's wrists. Thought Charles pulled away and repeatedly pushed him against the wall, Aaron did not loosen his grips.

Aaron seized his chance and used Charles' own momentum to fling the man against the bed. Papers fluttered up from their pile. Aaron caught sight of one page that looked like an oncologist's report. Another paper looked like a bank statement. Aaron glanced from the papers to the abandoned cigarette and connected the dots. Lung cancer. That's what the man was worked up about.

Charles rose from where he fell and charged at Aaron again, fist raised. Aaron blocked his arm with his own and punched the man in the stomach. Charles doubled over, and Aaron felt a little shocked, and a little thrilled, that he had just punched his stepfather.

Charles was up again in no time. He moved too fast now and grabbed Aaron's head in both hands. Though Aaron grabbed his wrists again, the man had full control and pushed him into the bedside table. The lamp came down with a crash. Aaron tried to get up, but Charles knocked him onto the mattress.

"I can do to your mother as I please!" Charles yelled. "And I can take care of you as I see fit. I _am_ the father here, and you have no right to say otherwise."

Aaron made another desperate effort to get up. Charles' thick palm in his chest held him in place.

Charles breathed heavily now, and he looked weaker than when they'd started. Even so, he had a last reservoir of strength to expend, and he was furious enough to finish anything. He reached for a chipped ceramic mug on the lamp table and raised it high over his head.

Aaron thought remorsefully about his Mother, Father, and baby brother as he lifted his hands to shield his face. And what about Haley? He knew how much the play meant to her and didn't want to let her down. So many lives affected by the end of one. _I'm sorry I failed all of you._


	7. Chapter 6 -- 'Tis a Glorious Thing

_[Anybody else eagerly anticipating the next episode of _Criminal Minds, "_Mr. Scratch"? In the meantime, here's my final chapter. Hope you enjoy.]_

The show was due to begin in fifteen minutes. Haley Brooks turned from one side to the other, examining her blue dress in the mirror. She had spent extra time hemming the skirt and making repairs as needed. Her hair was up and her bonnet completed the look. She kept checking and double-checking, scanning for errors.

"You look fine," her sister Jessica, playing one of the major-general's daughters, kept insisting.

"Do you really think so? Check the back, Jessie. Tell me if I missed any buttons."

"Nada. You're shipshape."

Finally satisfied, Haley smiled. "Alright. Let's get on out there."

The girls hurried backstage where the rest of the cast stood in anticipation. Through a crack in the curtain, Haley could see a fair-sized audience, mostly made up of parents, getting settled in their seats. Her father had taken time off from his store and would be accompanying her mother in the front row. She looked back at her co-stars and started doing mental inventories.

Oh no.

"What's wrong?" Jessica asked, seeing her sister's change in expression.

"Where's Aaron?"

"Who?"

"Pirate #4. The klutz."

"Oh, him. Haven't seen him today."

Haley had a bad feeling about this. When she looked around again and he still hadn't appeared, she turned to her sister. "I'm going to find him. Cover for me."

"Haley, you can't miss this opening."

"I won't. I just need to make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine. Probably just ran into some random wall..." Jessica muttered as Haley hurried away.

Haley held a handful of her skirt in one hand as she walked briskly down the corridor. She popped into a few classrooms and asked around a little, but nobody had seen the AWOL pirate all day. Apparently he had missed all his morning classes.

Haley stopped in front of the locker room doors. She absolutely dreaded the idea, but she knew it was the most likely place. She knocked hard and long on the boys' door and called out, "I'm looking for Aaron Hotchner. Are you in there?"

When she heard nothing, she tentatively opened the door. Between walls of blue lockers, a single boy sat hunched on the long bench. What a relief. Haley knew she should back up, but decided to deliver her message first. He'd better have a good excuse...

Something was wrong. Aaron wore jeans and that ratty henley, not his costume. His face was buried in his hands and he didn't move when she walked closer.

"Aaron? Hey, I know I'm not supposed to be in here. I just wanted to check... Aaron?"

He turned his head away, still hiding his face.

"Can I get you anything, or anyone? Is everything okay?"

"You should just leave. Nobody needs Pirate #4." His voice sounded so weak and dejected, she felt her gut soar.

"Yes, we do need you. You need to tell me if there's a problem, and we can fix it."

He shook his head. "I can't go out there."

Stage fright, thought Haley, but a creeping suspicion nagged in her mind. "I'll help you. Come on..." She reached for his hand to move it from his face.

Aaron pulled away so swiftly it surprised her. He leaned forward to the other side, intent on keeping his face buried.

"Aaron, look at me."

He didn't move, but she heard him sniffle.

"Let me see your face." Haley reached out again, gently, and guided his hand away. She gasped at what she saw.

A deep, inflamed cut underlined his left eye, still bloody-looking. Dark bruising surrounded the cut and buried his eye in purple and gray. The eye itself looked red, as if injected with blood. It was both terrifying and heart-wrenching to see.

"Oh, Aaron."

"I... I, uh, tripped on the stairs, and..."

"Stop. You don't need to lie to me. You don't think I've been watching you since you aced a last-minute tryout? You don't think I wondered about you always bringing a new injury to rehearsals, first your bruises, then your limp, and now this? Do you expect me to believe you're the clumsiest kid on the planet?"

Aaron looked down.

"Someone's hurting you, Aaron. You don't have to hide it; I know. You just need to be open about getting help if you need it." She took a deep breath, reining in her emotions. "Now I want see your face a little closer, feel for anything broken."

Aaron didn't resist as she pressed her slender hand against his face. She felt the eye socket and surrounding bones and found that her hand shook a little. Aaron winced. Something along his cheekbone felt cracked, but she couldn't be sure.

"This needs to get checked out."

"No, it will heal. It's... happened before."

"It must hurt. What happened?"

"I'm really not... supposed to be here. I should go."

"No!"

Her own tone was so firm it surprised her as much as him. He stopped squirming and looked up at her.

Haley took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "Do you want to talk to the police? I can go with you."

"No. If the police come in, things will only get worse. Mom said they would take me to jail, and all the felons would beat me to death. It's safer at home."

"But that isn't true. The police can help you."

"No. If they show up, Sean might get hurt. That's what Charles said, and he's not afraid to do anything."

Haley started to realize how very little she knew about the people she went to school with. This boy was suffering, along with his family by the sound of it, and nobody would dare to do anything about it.

"I'm so sorry, Aaron," she whispered.

There had to be something she could do.

"You'd better go, do your play," muttered Aaron.

"You're coming too." She didn't know where her conviction came from, she just knew she wasn't going back to the auditorium alone.

"If everyone sees my face, they'll start asking questions, the police will come, and Sean will get hurt."

"Who is Sean?"

"My baby brother."

Haley sighed. "If that's the way it is, I'll help you keep anybody from noticing."

"How?"

"Quickly get changed. I'll be back with a few things."

She left and hurried to the girls' room, where she stuffed her purse and few other items into a book bag. She paused, then decided to sneak into the storage room behind the auditorium. She rummaged through a couple bins, found what she needed, and crammed it into the bag as well. She felt a little silly tromping around the back rooms in her fine blue dress and bonnet. When she finally collected all her supplies, she rushed back to the boys' locker room. The play would begin in about five minutes.

Haley knocked, called out, "It's me, Haley," and slipped inside. Aaron stood in his simple pirate shirt and trousers. He was shrugging on the black embroidered vest as she entered.

"Okay, we don't have much time, so I'll make this quick." Haley sat down with her bag and patted the bench beside her. "Don't worry. I'm something of an expert."

Aaron sat beside her, nervously wringing his hands. She noticed for the first time that he was blushing a little.

"First I'm going to clean what I can. We can do more bandaging and stuff afterwards, but this is just to create a sanitary base." She found the wipes and antiseptic in her bag and began gently cleaning out the gash under Aaron's eye. Then she taped a thin square of gauze over the deep cut. When she finished, she revealed a theatrical make-up kit.

"There's no way you can cover everything with make-up," Aaron said.

"That's probably true, but I don't need your pessimism interfering with this operation."

Haley carefully brushed a make-up base over the gauze and the worst of the wound. She brought in some more skin tones and tried to neutralize the ugly marks. What make-up couldn't cover, she enhanced with cheesy stage gore to make an extra long, extra fake-looking scar crossing from his eye down his cheek. She even lengthened the fake scar up his forehead an inch.

While Haley worked, she talked animatedly to keep him distracted. "Pirate #4 needs a little more backstory, wouldn't you say? Let's make something up. You must have gotten this scar in an exciting sword fight. Perhaps you were fighting to save your brother, or a beautiful girl in trouble." She sort of enjoyed watching his face redden several more shades.

As a finishing touch, Haley placed an eye patch over the swollen black eye. Then she stood back to admire her handiwork. The gauze was nearly invisible. The scar looked overly exaggerated. It did look rather convincingly fake, but a good fake at that. How funny it seemed to try to make a mark look unrealistic, when her usual goal with make-up was 100% believability. Haley leaned in to add a touch of color here, a smear of powder there, just to make it a _little_ more realistic. She didn't want her work to be considered mediocre.

How ridiculous of her. This wasn't about her make-up abilities. This was about protecting Aaron and his baby brother from whatever wicked people would hurt them. She held up her personal mirror. "What do you think?"

Aaron stared for a minute. "That looks great."

"Oh, one more thing." Haley reached into her bag. "Since you got on the cast last minute, you weren't assigned one, but look what I found in storage."

She pulled out a high-quality, black pirate hat with a skull-and-crossbones on the front and a red feather fountaining up the top. Aaron inhaled in awe. It was a beautiful, detailed hat. It was the sort of thing he would have adored as a child and cherished forever.

Noticing his speechlessness, Haley placed the hat on his head. "There. You look like the best fourth pirate in history."

Despite his obvious pain, Aaron glowed. "I can't thank you enough."

"You can by hightailing it to that stage. We're only two minutes late."

Aaron stood and shoved his clothes into an empty locker. Slamming the door, he turned to Haley and smiled. "Aye, cap'n!"

She grinned back. That was, perhaps, the best deliverance of that line she had ever heard.

While Aaron limped backstage with his battle wounds and beaming countenance, Haley hurried to put escape the boys' locker room and put her things away. She hoped she'd never have to be in such an awkward situation again.

Haley made her scene with minutes to spare. From there, the play went very well. She held her breath half the time, hoping nobody would mess up, but she was pleasantly surprised by the all-around engaged performances. The exhausting practices had paid off. Her mom and dad cheered and waved from the front row, filling her with pride.

Vinny played a fine Frederic, but Haley knew he was a jerk offstage. She smelled a little alcohol around him, and she didn't like how he held onto her in the "romantic" scenes. But it didn't last long, and she was on to the next thing. Plus, she got to call him a "poor wandering one" to his face.

More than anything, she was attentive to Aaron Hotchner. What a big heart he had. Who could be so evil to hurt him all the time, and threaten his baby brother as well? Haley prayed that he might find refuge in the safety of the stage. _Just give him a break. He needs some peace._

She couldn't help chuckling a little at his self-conscious dramatics. He really was a terrible actor, but his effort was admirable and kind of sweet.

Between scenes, she saw him sitting alone backstage, smiling and gazing at a wrinkled Polaroid. He didn't mind her sitting beside him and glancing at the photo of a happy family.

"I hope my dad can watch from Heaven," Aaron whispered.

Haley impulsively placed her hand over his. "I'm sure he'd be very proud."

There was a pause. They could hear the police sergeant and his small band of officers singing and dancing. Haley cleared her throat.

"Do you think maybe—"

At the same time, Aaron asked, "Would it be okay if—"

They paused again. Haley tried once more, "Do you want to hang out later? Maybe study in the library together?"

"Study in the library?" Aaron's one visible eye could not get wider. "Oh my goodness, yes."

They joined the cast in the next scene for a rousing chorus of "It is, it is a glorious thing to be the pirate king."

She had a hunch it would be a glorious thing to have a friend like Aaron. Pirates or struggling schoolmates, they would trust, support, and protect each other. That was the nature of their friendship. And nobody, not Vinny Perotta, not the abusive monster in Aaron's life, could keep Haley and Aaron from loving each other.

The End.

_[What did you think? Please feel free to send me a quick review, let me know your thoughts, and tell me which version of Hotch's backstory you liked better. Thank you to everybody who read my stories!]_


	8. COMING SOON TEASER

-PREVIEW-

"Mr. Hotchner?"

Aaron stopped thinking about Haley's kindness—his medicine—and looked up to see Mrs. Gillansy leaning over his desk. All the other students had heads down and pencils scribbling in focused math. He alone sat twitching and tapping his pencil and squirming against the pain he couldn't hide.

His teacher lowered her voice. "Is everything alright?"

"Sorry?"

"Are you okay? Do you need help?"

For a minute, he sat speechless. Was it because of the crescent-shaped bruise from a belt buckle on his forearm, the arm he hadn't covered well enough with a sleeve? Was it because of the tear in his shirt just below the shoulder, where he could still feel the lash? Or was it his overall pale and listless composure that day that gave away his secret? What would she do now that she knew?

-END OF PREVIEW-

**_Following a few requests for a continuation, I have begun to write a sequel to this story. It will focus on Hotch and Haley's developing friendship during high school, along with larger scale circumstances and situations that help shape their futures. It might turn out to last much longer than this story, and take longer to complete. I am accepting ideas for consideration - if there is anything you want to see happen or any theories you have on Hotch's past or any special details you want included, feel free to message me or post a review. I am trying to write a bit of what everybody wants to read, and your contributions can help me achieve that._**

**_Thank you all._**

**_Oh, and from now on, I will be referring to my stories as WMBTMAL and WFPH. Hope that makes things easier (I know, I'm not good at short, simple titles)._**

**_-LetTheLightShine_**

**NOTE: This sequel is called "Curtain Call" and is going to be about a couple dozen chapters long. Thanks for reading.**


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